


Welcome to the Masquerade

by mewmewzelda22



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Langst, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewmewzelda22/pseuds/mewmewzelda22
Summary: It's easy to put on a mask. To cover what you don't want others to see. But to keep that mask up? That takes skill. To keep it up even when you feel like you just can't. To keep acting even when you've nothing left. Then to carefully remove that carefully mastered mask that you've perfected over time and time again of wearing it. To see what lay beneath the wall that you put up. To see the imperfections and scars that litter your skin. To not just end yourself right then and there. That takes true skill.Sometimes the mask a person bares isn’t completely them. Sometimes they require the aid of substances known to dull the edges of life to complete the empty spaces. Substances that will help them forget, that will make them forget. That mask slowly becomes less and less of them, and more and more of the substance. They lose themselves in the mask. To try and keep others from figuring out the truth behind that mask they wear, that's the true obstacle. To try and make it seem as if that mask is really them, that the substance they drown themselves in is nonexistent, is something unbearably hard to achieve. Yet it is done, and the mask remains.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a warning, this is my first work. Sorry if it's not amazing. I tried. I just wanted to write my feelings away. Hope you enjoy?

It's easy to put on a mask. To cover what you don't want others to see. But to keep that mask up? That takes skill. To keep it up even when you feel like you just can't. To keep acting even when you've nothing left. Then to carefully remove that carefully mastered mask that you've perfected over time and time again of wearing it. To see what lay beneath the wall that you put up. To see the imperfections and scars that litter your skin. To not just end yourself right then and there. That takes true skill. 

Lance had endured another tiring day of training when he felt the familiar pressure in his chest. The feeling that gnawed at his lungs and heart, begging for him to rip them out of his chest. Slowly he made his way to the room in which his release awaited. When the others questioned his blank face he brushed them off just saying he was tired and needed rest. Oh how far from the truth that was. 

When he reached his destination he made sure the door didn't lock in hope someone would find him, though he knew they never would. He sluggishly began the cleanup routine he had perfected over the time he'd been in space. Remove gear. Place on shelf. Remove under suit. Put in hamper. Remove undergarments. Place in hamper. Once completely stripped he made his way to the bathroom connected to his room. This is where he would try to rid himself of the pain in his chest. 

Before he found his release the pain was seemingly unable to be rid of. It was after he had seen others rid themselves of their pain by doing so that he tried it. Grabbing the small blade that once sharpened pencils he stared at his hips. The angry red lines taunted him for they were simply reminders of his failures. Tears gathering in his eyes he got to work. Slashing and scraping away at the skin that no one could see underneath his clothes he began the ritual of relieving the pressure built up in his chest. Slowly he brought his doings to a stop. The blade was slick with blood, his fingertips coated in a thin sheet of it. The skin of his hips stinging from the new wounds, dripping the crimson liquid that coated his hands. 

Carefully he set the blade down and looked in the mirror. He hated what he saw. The pathetic excuse of a human that stood before him made him want to curl into a ball and seize to exist. The obstacle in everyone's way. The seventh wheel. The unneeded one. The unwanted one. 

Stepping away from his damaged reflection lance began the water for a shower. He stuck his hand in the stream watching as the blood was washed down into the drain. Once the water was deemed warm enough he stepped into the flow. For a few moments all that could be seen going down into the drain was red. That few moments felt like forever to Lance. Slowly he recovered from his trance and began to wash himself, careful of the still tender skin of his hips. 

Once Lance finished cleaning himself up he grabbed his towel, which was still white thanks to his best friend bleach, and proceeded to dry himself off. When he was as dry as he could get himself Lance grabbed the roll of bandages he swiped from the med bay and started the familiar process of dressing his wounds. Even though he so desperately wanted to leave them untreated and open so his jeans could rub away at them he knew that could lead to the chance of someone seeing blood from them being reopened, which was a bad. He didn't want to drag someone else down because he was fucked up in the head. He didn't want to be the reason the team gets pulled down because he can't deal with his own shit. Because he was a complete fuck up. Because he was to afraid to ask for help. Adding disinfectant cream to deeper wounds, Lance bandaged his hips up with a practiced skill nobody should have. 

Soon after he finished dressing his cuts the ever so nice feeling began to make its way back to its home in Lance's chest. With a sigh he opened the door to his room, which lay as vacant as he had left it before, and headed to the dresser he was ever so kindly supplied with by the Alteans upon request. He might as well make it seem like he cared about things like that so others didn't get suspicious, right? Lance grabbed the clothes he wore on a daily basis now and put them on with ease. Nobody would see the pain in which he inflicted upon himself now. Nobody would see the ruinous state of mind in which he was currently in. Nobody would notice just how much pain he was in. Just the way it should be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I was going to focus solely on lance, but I feel as if it would make more sense to give different masks to all of the paladins, for no one mask is the same. Also note I wrote this in one sitting during my english class, so there are probably a lot of error and yeah. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy?

Sometimes the mask a person bares isn’t completely them. Sometimes they require the aid of substances known to dull the edges of life to complete the empty spaces. Substances that will help them forget, that will make them forget. That mask slowly becomes less and less of them, and more and more of the substance. They lose themselves in the mask. To try and keep others from figuring out the truth behind that mask they wear, that's the true obstacle. To try and make it seem as if that mask is really them, that the substance they drown themselves in is nonexistent, is something unbearably hard to achieve. Yet it is done, and the mask remains.

  
Pidge was making her way to the Green Lion’s hangar when she heard the all too familiar sound of space mice scampering across the floor. She turned to see them crawl into one of the many vents in the castleship and make their way to who knows where, though that was the least of her worries. Her mind trailed off to the time where she had to crawl through those very vents. The time she had almost gotten her friends killed because of her selfish choices. The time she alm - shaking her head she turned around and beelined for her room.

  
Once she was there she checked and double checked that her door was locked before she even dared to drag out her stash. As she dragged out the toolbox that contained anything but tools she felt the longing of the burn she knew she would feel as she drank from the bottles. Unlocking the toolbox, she sighed at the sight of various bottles containing alien booze. Katie knew the consequences of drinking at an early age, but she knew nothing else could help her as liquor does.

  
Pulling out the space equivalent of a cheap vodka, she took a drag of the fermented liquid. She relished in the burn it gave as it slid down her throat. Wanting something a little stronger she twisted the cap back onto the bottle and grabbed a more familiar one. Unscrewing the cap, she read over the worn label she had made herself familiar with. Whiskey. Downing a good portion of the bottle, she felt as the alcohol did its work, taking the edge off of reality. She then proceeded to seal and place the bottle back where it belonged, knowing if she didn’t put it away now, she would end up drunk as hell.

  
Once Pidge knew any and all evidence of the alcohol was hidden away, she made her way out of her room and to her original destination of the Green Lion’s hangar. She had work to do, and as the programmer of the team, she was the only one who could do it.


End file.
